<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>City Escape by LunaD</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26189017">City Escape</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/LunaD/pseuds/LunaD'>LunaD</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (TV 2003), Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Episode: s03e21 Same As It Never Was, Family Dynamics, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Karai was wasted as a character here lemme fix that, inspired by SAINW but with a different plot, some blood and violence...and torture, the emotional and physical kind yeehaw</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 05:54:44</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>21,209</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26189017</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/LunaD/pseuds/LunaD</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Donatello finds himself in the wake of an overturned New York. As he struggles to make sense of it all, so does his family. At least, what's left of them.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>29</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>With how popular SAINW is, I'm suprised there's not more fics out there about it. Based on 2k3 turtles with some IDW seasoning.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Something was terribly horribly wrong, Donatello thought. </span>
  <em>
    <span>It's a nightmare, it must be.</span>
  </em>
  <span> He repeated in his mind, </span>
  <em>
    <span>just a horrible terrible nightmare</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He ran down the dark dingy path of the underground, the wet slaps from his feet against the puddled concrete echoing down the tunnels. It was difficult to see, for any light that tended to flow down to the caverns below were blocked by cave-ins. He heard the low rumble of machinery gaining on him and continued to hasten his pace. If he didn’t find an exit soon, he’d be roadkill for sure.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He passed by what he thought were several of the old exits, hoping to find the familiar rungs of the metal ladders. Unfortunately there were no rungs, no visible way up to the manhole covers he swore had been there a day before. The few that he had managed to find were, unfortunately, welded shut. The path he chose felt familiar, but off. Everything felt so frustratingly familiar, like the answer was staring right at him, like he was missing a key piece that would allow his perspective to finally shift back. A better analogy might have been an itching in the back of his brain, somewhere he couldn’t quite reach. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eventually the tunnel curved into what Donatello thought was a dead end. Thankfully the cave-in simply provided its own ladder of sorts. Quickly, he ascended the rubble, stumbling as his panicked heart urged him faster on. He managed to dive roll onto the secondary area as the large machine took out the debris he had just climbed over. Now that Donatello was safely above, he could see exactly what had been chasing him. A large metallic drill passed under him, clearing a way through the caverns he had been previously venturing through. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The strange machinery ripped through the concrete like it was butter, and Donatello shivered, realizing he had come a little too close to being on the receiving end of it. Through the dust left in the wake of the drill, he spotted several armed men tailing after it, their strong torch-light surveying the cleared area. One peered up where he sat and Don quickly ducked down out of view. He recognized the silhouettes from earlier, they had been following him since he had woken up underground. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The last few days had Donatello feeling like a mouse trapped in a maze, unknown forces herding him forward and further into the unknown. Donatello didn’t know who they were or why they were in the sewers. There were too many to pick off and question, and not enough hiding places to observe the squadron safely. But, if there were people actively scouring the underground, then something was terribly wrong. He needed to find his family.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Donatello sighed, leaning back on his hands as he took a moment of reprieve. He scanned his surroundings, noticing the majority of it was more concrete rubble. He was able to make out more of the shapes thanks to a light source above him. He peered up only to see the bright full moon shining in the night sky. That's when he realized that he was outside. He stood, scanning his surroundings once more. He was in an old station, the roof had collapsed and some of the walls were missing. All of the glass windows were completely shattered. Through them he could see the outer world, making out the tall grass and weeds threatening to overtake the old building. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn't recognize the station, nor the exit he had taken. Tentatively, he walked into the tall grass, its seeded tips catching on the wet skin of his legs. The entire area was dark, save for the moonlight; which was odd considering that this was New York City- the city that never sleeps. There were no street lamps, or stray window lights from the buildings surrounding him. The rundown, old, almost historical looking architecture made him think that perhaps he was in an older part of Brooklyn. How he had gotten here though, he had no idea.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As he shuffled through the forgotten landscape, he looked up into the tall building surrounding him, trying to figure out which one he wanted to scale for a better look of his surroundings.  From the skyline, Donatello was sure he would be able to easily figure out what part of New York he was in. He felt silly for being lost in a place that he had grown up. He supposed that if worse came to worse, he could call April from a payphone and make her promise not to tell his brothers. He’d use his own shellcell, but oddly enough, the gadget refused to connect to any network. He was essentially cut off from everything. It only made his growing anxiety worsen.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He spotted an old brick building to his left, the 1960’s style window ledges providing perfect perches to scale the building. He moved towards it, his focus never leaving the window he fully intended on gripping first. But as soon as his foot met the concrete of the street, a sudden light overwhelmed his vision. For a moment he thought that the moon had suddenly tripled in intensity. He peered up in disbelief, something he instantly regretted as the light temporarily blinded him. He glanced back at the ground, blinking away the white spots in his vision. He noticed an intense circle of light surrounding the concrete around him, and realized it was a spotlight above him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There were old rusted cars around him, the grass anchoring them to the ground as it grew in and around machinery. He made a move towards one of them, out of the light, hoping to not be seen. He halted his steps, however, when he saw several figures taking up position behind the cars. Their black attire made it even more difficult to see with the bright spotlight shining down on him. However, he could make out the glint of their guns trained on him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Donatello whipped his head around wildly, searching for any means of escape. Any plans he had started to cook up immediately were cut off by the loud booming voice from overhead. “Put up your hands and get down on the ground!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With no cover nearby, Donatello realized that he was in a tough spot. Quickly, he threw his hands up, not wanting to provoke his sudden attackers. Donatello did as he was asked, slowly moving down onto the concrete underneath the intense white light. There were too many guns trained on him for him to be able to get out of this unscathed. As soon as his chest touched the pavement, several of the soldiers were on him, wrangling him roughly back up, his hands wrenched painfully behind his shell.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, careful!” Donatello griped. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now that the men were close enough to make out, Donatello took in as much detail as he could. He felt his heart plummet as he spotted the familiar insignia over their chest. It was the unmistakable symbol of the Foot. Donatello wasn’t sure which would have been worse, a military force with unknown agendas, or the ruthless yet familiar clan currently surrounding him. He wondered who they’d even be taking him to, the Shredder had been gone for years. What was odd to him, though, was the fact that these Foot soldiers were carrying guns, something the Foot had never done up until now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before Donatello’s brain could think up any more theories, he was roughly steered away from the station parking lot. The entire time the spotlight followed him. Donatello couldn’t remember ever feeling so vulnerable before. A lifetime of being enveloped in shadows bore him no favors when it came to bright lights being centered on him. They ushered him passed the building he had intended on scaling, a large armored van moved into view. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Donatello knew that once they got him into that van, his chances of escape would dwindle further. He looked around, counting his enemies as well as his odds. Before he could scout out all of their positions, a gloved hand roughly pushed his head down. He managed to get one foot onto the lip of the bed of the truck, pushing against the soldiers as they attempted to shove him inside. He was only able to hold against them momentarily, before a butt end of a rifle hit the base of his skull, sending him flying forward. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His chest landed on the bed, almost knocking the wind out of him. His knees scraped against the concrete, his leather pads thankfully absorbing the damage. The soldier that had kept his arms bound behind him faltered as he too, almost fell with the turtle. Donatello realized this was his only chance to escape, and used the bed of the van to anchor his body as his legs whipped around to pinwheel his would-be captors. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The three soldiers nearest to him fell immediately, only to be replaced with two others that had been trailing behind. They centered their guns at him, fully intent to mow Don down. Donatello moved to leap over them, but his foot snagged on one of the fallen soldier’s straps, causing him to faceplant in front of them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Donatello looked up to see the two rifles aimed at him, and briefly he wondered if after everything, this would be how he died. Years of impossible situations, facing the Shredder head on countless times, traveling across time and space, preventing wars and bringing peace alongside his brothers, only for his legacy to end here. Alone. He squeezed his eyes shut involuntarily as he heard the unmistakable two shots sound off. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was a long moment before Donatello could brave opening his eyes, but when he realized he still could, he looked up. The two men in front of him were still hovering over him, but they didn’t move. Suddenly, and without warning, they crumpled to the ground. Donatello scanned the area, hoping to find any indication of an answer. He glanced back at the bodies, a pool of blood quickly flowing out from under them. </span>
  <em>
    <span>They were shot, but by who? </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He kept low to the ground as the remaining soldiers opened fired into the darkness. He heard them shout to each other, but it was too late. The last of the soldiers were swept away with bullets, joining their teammates on the concrete. Donatello had no indication of where the assailant was, part of him was afraid to move, to draw attention to himself if this hadn’t in fact been a rescue.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can’t believe it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Donatello froze. He slowly got up as he turned to face the voice behind him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“After all these years. It really is you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn’t recognize the voice, but the person standing in front of him looked so hauntingly familiar. Donatello couldn’t place how he knew them, but he felt that same itch in the back of his brain that he had felt earlier. The person was older, completely covered in dark worn garb, several tactical straps and pouched lined his hip, chest, and right thigh. His poncho-like-covering draped over the left side of his shoulder, hiding his arm.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In his right hand, slung over his shoulder, was a long range rifle. No doubt what could be surmised as the reason his attackers were resting in the afterlife. He couldn’t make out the face, as most of it was surrounded in the same material draped around him, covering his mouth from view. However, there was an unmistakable familiarity in his worn eyes. He wore a mask, and Donatello swore he could make out a faded tint of color. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Donatello stepped forward, trying to get a better look at the stranger's face. “Do I know you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The stranger quickly turned, surveying the area as if he heard something besides Don’s voice. He glanced back at Don from over his shoulder. “I suppose, not anymore.” He turned back behind them, silently making his way to the side of the building. Donatello followed, not satisfied with the answer he was given. He crouched low, peering around the brick building for any more stray soldiers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait! What do you mean? Who are you?” When the stranger didn’t answer, Donatello placed his hand on the man’s shoulder, moving him to face him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Instead of an answer, the stranger slapped Don’s hand away. Donatello couldn’t help but notice the lack of fingers. Unsatisfied, Donatello looked down to their feet. He felt a wave of confusion overcome him as he saw his own toes mirrored on the stranger’s. He looked back up at the stranger’s face, moving a hand towards the hood. Before he was able to reach it, the stranger’s hand tightly gripped his wrist, causing him to release the edge of the cover. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t.” The stranger’s voice was a low, authoritative growl, but it was too late. A mere second was all Donatello had needed to confirm his theory.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mikey?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His brother turned away, sighing as he stood. He chuckled half heartedly as he shook his head. “I haven’t heard that nickname in so long, I forgot it even existed.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dumbfounded, Donatello stayed frozen in his crouch, the gears in his mind trying to make sense of everything as his brain overloaded. He rounded his sibling again, taking the sight of him in a new light. As he once again blocked Mikey’s path, he caught the flutter of the poncho draping over his left side. It wasn’t what the cloth hid that shocked the turtle, but what he didn’t find.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Behind the draped cloth, revealed his brother’s missing arm. Questions began swarming his mind, and Donatello couldn’t help a horrified expression. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What in the world happened to you?” Donatello barely had time to blink as he was suddenly thrown into the side of the brick building, Mikey’s good arm pinning him at his throat. His voice was quiet and sharp. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“After all these years you show your face and have the gall to ask </span>
  <em>
    <span>me </span>
  </em>
  <span>that question?” Mikey roughly shoved his brother away, rightly setting the rifle in place on his back. “You should have stayed under whatever rock you’d been hiding under.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Donatello could only stare in shock. Finding his brother only added more questions to his already frayed mind. “I-I don’t understand, what do you mean ‘after all these years’?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mikey simply shook his head, his patience running out. “Fifteen, Don. Fifteen long years we lived without you. Finally we were able to move on. And then you think you can just show back up like nothing’s happened? After everything?” Michelangelo scoffed. “There’s nothing left here for you. Nothing but hate and death.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Donatello thought for a moment, taking in what his brother had said. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Fifteen years. How was that even possible?</span>
  </em>
  <span> He couldn’t remember anything leading up to getting here. Every time he tried to think about the past his mind frayed and fizzled broken projections of unrecognizable places. He started to get migraines if he focused too long on them. But something Mikey said stuck out in his mind, the mention of others. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait, you said ‘we’. Where are Leo and Raph?” Donatello could see Mikey’s shoulder’s sink at the question. He didn’t care for that implication at all. “Mikey?” Donatello repeated, swallowing as the familiar anxious feeling began to stir inside him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mikey turned to his brother, an unreadable look on his face. “Things don’t always play out how you thought they would. No matter how hard you try.” Mikey paused for a while, his eyes distant. “It’s how things go when you grow up I suppose.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mikey…” Donatello started, his heart broke seeing this man who was supposedly his brother, but everything about him was so alien. He was a completely different person. How bad could things have gotten for his brother, someone who had a seemingly endless amount of joy, to be robbed of it all? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was roused from his thoughts as Mikey began walking away. “Do you know where they are?” Donatello stared at the back of his brother’s shell, his slow pace unfaltering. Donatello swallowed hard, his voice cracking. “Are they even alive?” Mikey continued to ignore him, causing Donatello to bundle his fists in anger as he bellowed, “Answer me!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In a flash Mikey was on him. Donatello stood frozen, the impressive speed of his brother stealing his breath. He hadn’t even seen him approach. His eyes bore into Don’s own, the absolute authority behind the cold stare keeping Don from reacting. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There’s no family left for you here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Donatello felt himself projected from his body, his head spun. </span>
  <em>
    <span>What in the world is going on? This has to be a bad dream. There’s no way this is real.</span>
  </em>
  <span> One moment he was living with his brothers, enjoying life in the sewers of New York, the next this? Donatello still didn’t want to believe it. His family would die for each other without question, their bond so strong it transcended planes of existence. He didn’t believe Mikey’s words, he didn’t want to, he couldn’t.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why did you save me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mikey halted. Not bothering to look back this time as he replied coldly. “I thought you were someone else. I won’t make that mistake again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Donatello had never seen such an expression on his brother, and if he didn’t know any better, he wouldn’t have believed that this was his person used to be the loveable goofball of his little brother. Don had stood there gawking, his brain trying to wrap around what had transpired. His emotions clashed in overwhelming tidal waves of confusion, hurt, and anger. By the time he composed himself, Mikey had already disappeared. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The fact that his brother had just left him here drove home the fact that he was no longer the brother that Donatello once knew. He had no words left, and for a long while he stared at the road ahead. Eventually Donatello came back to himself and realized standing out in plain view was dangerous. In one last ditch of stray emotion he kicked a rock, fuming as he growled to himself. “I can’t believe he just left me here!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He scaled the building next to him, continuing his maddening train of thought as he made his way to the roof. “Once I find that little orange brat again...Mikey’ll wish he let those soldiers shoot me.” Donatello huffed as he lifted himself over the lip on the top of the building. “That good for nothing brother. ‘No family left’ my shell!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Donatello scowled as he searched the horizon for a familiar outline of buildings. None of which did, only feeding his growing irritation. After the night he had had, Donatello thought it would be better to hide out somewhere safe, as the sun had started to crest the horizon. He spotted a more inhabitable side of the area, and snuck into one of the dilapidated buildings. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>With the last bit of cover of night, he set himself up a small bed, frowning at the unknown stains on the blanket he had managed to snag from a line. As he tried to sleep, he kept reassuring himself that best case scenario, he would wake up in his bed in the lair, and worse case, he would spend the next night figuring out where in the world he was, or even, </span>
  <em>
    <span>when </span>
  </em>
  <span>he was.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Unfortunately, sleep did not come without a fight. He didn’t get more than six hours of it, as every creak of the wooden floors warming in the sunlight reminded him that he in fact had not been a part of a fluke nightmare. Groggily, he sat up, staring out the window. Moving in the day time was not ideal, especially when after what happened last night, it was clear that he couldn’t use the underground tunnels to get around. It was probably for the best, as, if what Michelangelo had said was true, they wouldn’t be the same as he remembered anyway. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was better if he avoided any risks until he figured out what was going on. For a moment he considered finding his brother again, but Donatello thought it wiser to have more knowledge of the current situation before confronting him again. That was, if he could even find him. He gathered up the blanket, deciding it could prove useful, and draped it around his form as he had seen his brother do the night previous.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now ready to set out, he made his way to the roof, careful to spot any stray eyes that could catch him. Thankfully there was nothing, not even a bird or a rat was found. It was eerie and unsettling. Donatello quickly reached the top of the roof, once more to take in what he thought would be a familiar skyline. Instead, he was met with a completely unrecognizable cityscape. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The once bustling, bright, and exciting city had been turned into a wasteland of abandoned and dilapidated buildings. A large barbed fence lined the coast of the island, signaling to all that they shouldn’t trespass. In the distance, on the main part of the skyline, Donatello made out a more urban environment, and set out towards it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He spent the whole day making his way there. He would have gotten there sooner, but the closer he got to the edge of the rural section, the more Foot soldiers he saw. They moved in groups, in perfect formation, their rifles hugged close to their bodies. He wondered what on earth they could be doing occupying such a large section of land without police or military resistance from the city. Unless, of course, they owned the land. Donatello shivered. He didn’t fancy the idea of the Foot gaining more power than they already had. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As the sun began to set, Donatello spotted the first human. He was an older man with a grizzled beard and tattered clothes. Donatello only spotted him because of the scream. A squad of Foot soldiers dragged him out of the building opposite of him, hauling him to the street. They roughly threw him to the ground, circling around him, their guns trained on him. The man quivered, moving his hands up in front of his face as he pleaded. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even in an unfamiliar land, Donatello couldn’t just sit back and watch them harass a seemingly harmless old man. It was unfortunately still daylight, so going in head first wasn’t an option. Instead he pulled out his shuriken. As he calculated the angle of his throw, he heard it. The gunshot. Donatello watched in shock as the old man slumped back and lay still. Donatello had to bite back from crying out for the stranger. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>For a second he thought he had, until he realized the sound came from a woman out of sight. He couldn’t see her, but by the time he realized she must have been in the same building that the old man had been dragged out of, it was too late. Another gunshot fired. Donatello slumped back down from the window, his shuriken falling from his hand, tinkling as it hit the floor now useless. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>What kind of world had he been transported to? The Foot was now an army, gunning down innocents because...why? Because they were trespassing? None of this made sense. Donatello felt a wave of dizziness as his brain struggled with the new world thrust in front of him. He needed someone, something familiar, anything to help him make sense of this madness. Donatello moved, trying not to glance back as the soldiers moved the bodies into the back of a black van. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was nightfall when Donatello reached the barbed wire wall separating him from the urban area. Getting out was tricky business. The wall was too far from the buildings to simply jump over. The wire lining the top made it near impossible to scale over. Simply breaking through the wall would draw too much attention to himself, and after the last two nights, that was the last thing Donatello wanted. He moved across the rooftops, spotting an exit nearby. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was an opened gate, vans leaving occasionally. The area swarmed with soldiers, either keeping guard or setting up camp. It was dangerous, but he couldn’t stay in the enclosure, avoiding them forever. Not when his brothers might still be out there.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There were two vans that soldiers were unloading supplies from. Donatello scaled down the building, sneaking up as close as he dared. He could use them to escape if the soldiers turned away at the right moment. The soldier shut the back doors, thumping the metal in signal for the driver. The engine revved as it took off, thankfully towards the gate and not back the way he had come. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Donatello twirled a few pebbles in his palm, flicking them opposite him. The soldiers turned towards the noise, allowing Donatello an opening. Keeping low to the ground, Donatello slid in under the second van, latching on to the metal rods of the belly as it’s engine also revved. It followed closely behind the first, stopping only at the gate as the guard handed the soldier some papers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Donatello heard a second guard crouch underneath the bed, shining his flashlight along the belly. As he did, Donatello hid behind one of the large tires closest to the guard, effectively shielding himself from view. The van eventually took off again, catching up with the first down the road. Donatello held on strong, counting the minutes from when they had left, waiting until they were a safe enough distance away before he dropped from the vehicle. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was better to do it now, before they stopped again, or worse, brought him somewhere even harder to escape from. From the ground he couldn’t see much, but the passing lining of buildings and businesses slowly became more urban as time went on. The old brick apartments soon turned into new age residences, and eventually he saw more and more people.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Every now and then he would see a set of shuffling feet, always quickly turning away from the vans as soon as they spotted them. Although the city started to seem more inhabitable, it still felt off. It was as if the city and municipalities had stopped providing upkeep for the city years ago. Ironically, some parts of the sewer had looked nicer. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Feeling like he shouldn’t press his luck any further, Donatello dropped away from the van, careful to roll out from the tires so as to not be seen in the rear view mirror. He pressed up against the wall, making himself as small as he could in the shadows as he assessed his surroundings. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was indeed in a more populous area, as the buildings looked more lived in, but any passerbys had been scared off by the Foot vans. Talking to a local would be the easiest way to get knowledge, but Donatello would prefer to find out by means of internet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now that he was in a more inhabited part of New York, he could begin to collect information. His first stop would be another rooftop. From there he could spot a news stand, a library, internet cafe, anything that could give him easy access to catch him up on what had transpired. He moved to the edge of the rooftop, around the rusted and broken air conditioners to take in the sight of the cityscape.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In the distance Donatello could make out a stark change in infrastructure. The building’s architecture became drastically different as it led farther and farther into the center of the city. Entire blocks had been mowed down, replaced with prestince white and black empires of buildings. This wave of change spread from the center like an infection, wiping out all the culture and light of the historical city like a drawing by the sea. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Large roads lead inward towards the center of the pristine area, a large obelisk-like building proudly towering over the rest of them. From the top of the building, a large black banner unfurled. In the center, was the unmistakable, bold, red mark of the Foot Clan. Donatello had no doubts left. The Foot had taken over New York.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Donatello woke with a start. Papers clung to him as the sleep fog receded ever so slowly. He batted away the foreign objects encasing him, the sharp sounds of shuffling paper attacking his ears. He looked about to see a swath of newspapers surrounding him. He grabbed one, absentmindedly reading the large header.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>New martial laws in effect starting November. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Donatello slowly set the paper back down, suddenly remembering why he was covered in them. He had spent the last week gaining as much information as possible while staying out of sight. The task had proven much harder than he had anticipated, as the Foot Regiment had wiped out all means of communication with the outside world. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>No computers, landlines, cell towers...there were hardly any electrical lines left. As much as he tried not to think about them, Donatello couldn’t help but wish for his brothers. He sighed and gathered up the newspapers, once again placing them in their correct order. There were still several key pieces missing from his timeline, but it helped paint a clearer picture. He walked down the line of relevant articles, starting at the earliest issue he managed to find. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>New York still feeling the lasting effect of the invasion.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Invasion of what though?” Donatello thought.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Riots overtake the country as America struggles to make sense of it all.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Is the country on the brink of a Civil War?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Donatello knelt down to look at the pictures. “Somehow I feel like America did more harm to itself than the invasion.” He turned the page, rubbing his head as he thought. “What in the world happened to make the whole country implode on itself?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He placed the column back, moving along. The worn wooden boards creaked under his feet.   Donatello looked over the scraps. He couldn’t help but chuckle at himself. The layout of his current hiding hole looked like something straight out of one of Splinter’s crime shows. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He could still picture Master Splinter sitting in the living room, absentmindedly stroking his beard as he leaned close to the TV. He somehow always knew who the killer was, but that never deterred him from continuing to indulge in the shows. Even in his final days. Quickly the memory turned sour as the quiet emptiness he felt returned. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I wish you were still here, Father.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He caught the scraps as they tumbled away, drifting from a stray breeze that crept through the boarded window. With the libraries having been shut down and ransacked, it had been hard to find intact issues in the archive. “This is when the states closed themselves off.” He set the pieces back, murmuring to himself as he went. “I suppose in the absence of a ruling government, it would be easier to repair each state individually.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Apparently the riots in New York City had been particularly bad. The state itself was heavily damaged in the invasion, and society itself was thrown into chaos. At this point in time was when the Foot started publically popping up. Donatello stared at the picture in one of the issues. It was of the large tower in the center of the city, the same one that filled him with dread several nights back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This time though, he felt a different emotion, something clawing at his mind. It was that same itching feeling he got when he was back underground. Like his mind was trying to tell him something. Donatello wracked his brain for any clues to this odd feeling, anything that could help bring clarity to the situation. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Suddenly that same buzzing he had felt earlier filled his mind. He scrambled back as the overwhelming images flashed in his memories. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Where they memories?</span>
  </em>
  <span> That bright blue light, the voice screaming at him, the intense heat. His heart hammered as the migraine spiked. It felt like an ice pick was thrust into his skull. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He rested his head on the cool floor, his shaking hands clutching the paper as he struggled to regain his breath. After a long moment the pain receded, only the throbbing remaining. He sat back, staring at the ceiling, counting the yellow weathered spots in the compromised support. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s enough research for one day.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After several more days of scouting, Donatello realized he needed to keep moving. He was starting to get malnourished, and was in dire need of water. The rooftops were barren. What water towers hadn’t rotted, were long since dried up. Most of the stores had been ransacked, but Donatello had managed to find a few fossilized cans of food forgotten in the supermarket storage. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As risky as it was, he needed to find a more populated area. People meant resources. And his current location had none. Not even Foot patrol vehicles appeared anymore. He wasn’t sure if that was a good sign or not. Donatello bundled up what supplies he had and made off for civilization. As his journey continued, Don managed to learn almost as much as the newspapers had provided simply by wandering the evolved landscape of the city.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The state of the buildings said much about the decline of the populous. Repairmen, electricians, plumbers, garbage collectors, road workers, all of the jobs humans tended to take for granted, suddenly wiped from existence. And the damage done was apparent. Donatello absentmindedly wondered if this is what humans preferred when they complained about taxes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Donatello stopped. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His breath hitched in his chest as a world-shattering thought occurred to him. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>April.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He should have asked Mikey about her and Casey, he should have </span>
  <em>
    <span>remembered</span>
  </em>
  <span> to ask him! It had been so many years. How old would she be? Was she even still in New York? Was she even still alive?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Donatello clutched his head, shaking it. He couldn’t think about it, he couldn’t let the anxiety overwhelm him. He had to stay focused. </span>
  <em>
    <span>There’s no reason to lose hope yet. Just take things one step at a time Don.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Suddenly, Donatello heard voices behind him. He ducked into a broken window of a store, waiting for the people to draw closer. It was a young couple by the looks of it. They looked like backpackers, and seemed fairly well off. Donatello decided it would be a good idea to follow them. No doubt their destination would be better than simply wandering aimlessly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was difficult to tail them during the day. He could have made it easier on himself by following from the rooftops, but Don wanted to get any information he could by overhearing their conversations. The journey was also excruciatingly drawn out. Due to the size of their packs, the couple had to walk fairly slow, even by a turtle’s standards. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They made several stops to stretch their shoulders, and Don actually welcomed these. It was then that the two women talked the most. Unfortunately, it was mostly unrelated information, but occasionally Donatello would get a nugget or two from them. They were currently on their way to a more stable part of the city, as their current location was being cleared for renovation. By renovation, Donatello surmised, they meant gentrification to Foot standards. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That would make sense…” Donatello thought to himself aloud. </span>
  <em>
    <span>No one else is here, and this location hadn’t just been ‘ransacked’, it had been totally gutted. No doubt people had been living here before.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Donatello wondered absentmindedly what had happened to them. Did they simply move in mass exodus to a different part of the city? Or were they forced from their homes? Or were they killed like the old couple he had seen before? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Donatello regretted not stopping his train of thought sooner, as the memory depressed him greatly. Suddenly the women’s voices quieted as one hushed the other. They quickly stuffed their supplies back into their packs, before sitting as still as stone. Donatello turned to see a Foot squad car driving past, a little too slowly to be anything but intentional. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lights flashed from the vehicle, but it made no sound. Only the crunching of dirt and stone from under the rolling tires made any noise. The tension was incredibly thick thanks to the odd reaction the two women had given it. Even when it turned out of sight, they continued to sit silently. Another minute passed before they finally moved, loading up without another word. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Donatello continued to follow them as the sun set. The two women barely had spoken in the last hour, but their body language finally seemed to relax. Soon enough more people started appearing, and slowly but surely they made their way into the populous. </span>
  <em>
    <span>So this is New York…</span>
  </em>
  <span> Donatello thought to himself, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Although, I suppose </span>
  </em>
  <span>New </span>
  <em>
    <span>New York would be a more appropriate name. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Many of the old stores and apartments had been repurposed as markets or communal living spaces. It was nice to see that even after everything, there was still a sense of community in his hometown. Figuring this was a good place to start, Donatello bid the women a silent farewell. They melted into the crowds as he turned his attention to the many stalls.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He moved from the shadows of the alleys, drawn to the lively area. The market was between two tall residential buildings, several ropes hung from windows, tarps tied to them, blocking both sun and rain from the stalls. The market spanned the entire street. It stretched far enough that Donatello had trouble seeing the end. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Everyone wore the same type of clothing, worn, tattered, stained. He figured it was because most people didn’t have access to washing machines, or proper soap. Many of the items people offered were either used or handmade. Each stall was set up on old tables or blankets laid out on the ground. If it weren’t for the circumstances surrounding it, Donatello would enjoy the sense of communal trade. It reminded him of the junkyard and old space explorations to the distant alien planets.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Curious, Donatello pulled the draped cloth closer to him, spying the goods as passerbys crowded. He took in the different culture. Any sane person would be horrified that a booming city had been reverted to such seemingly archaic ways, but Donatello was fascinated by the change. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He eyed the goods people prized enough to offer, spotting mostly bags, blankets, and clothes. Some nicer set ups had utensils or kitchenware, as well as pillows. Which were surprisingly expensive. By the end of the line, he had even spotted one owner selling handmade soap, albeit for a price that made him double take. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was surprised to find that many of the shops still bartered with cash. Monetary gain still held some value after all. Perhaps that's where they were getting better supplies. Most of the people were scavengers, he figured. Pillaging what was left behind in the abandoned buildings. As he started on the second row, Donatello felt his stomach start to growl. He had almost forgotten that his body relied on food to function.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Risking exposure, Donatello reached out to one of the sellers. “Excuse me, where can I find something to eat around here?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The woman looked him over, wondering how he had gotten as far as he did without figuring it out himself. She set the pot she had been relocating down  and huffed an answer as she wiped the sweat from her brow. “About half a mile east is the sister market. That’s where they sell things like fresh goods.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With a nod Donatello thanked her, setting off for the other market. The farther down he walked, the more sparse the stalls became. Eventually, he found himself alone on the road. The sun was setting, and golden hues bounced off the forgotten buildings in an oddly beautiful way. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>From behind him, Don heard the familiar revving of an engine. He turned to catch the nose of a black van turning the corner. He quickly ducked into an alley, reaching for the manhole by habit. He panicked as he fumbled with the lid, realizing that it had been welded shut. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>By the time he found a proper hiding spot, the van had passed, seemingly unaware of the turtle. Donatello sighed, wishing nothing more than to go home. “I guess they’re here too, huh?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Knowing that the vans were patrolling again didn’t help his nerves, so Donatello stuck close to the buildings, watching the streets with wary eyes. Eventually he reached the second market, the strong need to blend into the masses driving him more than the need to eat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The new area was a little more confusing to navigate. Instead of one long section, the market was split up into blocks. Donatello couldn’t help but feel a little giddy at the change in scenery, almost tripping as a flock of chickens ran past him, catching him off guard. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Many of the buildings had been hollowed out, skylights filtering through the many floors as plants took up space. Different crops grew on different floors, and when ripened, were sold in the individual stalls below. Even as the sun began to fall out of sight, the heat felt brutal, and he wondered how the crops kept fresh. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There were quite a few food stalls that had Donatello’s mouth watering. Large stews, roasted meats and vegetables, boiled eggs, fairly plain but easy to make dishes. Donatello figured that whatever spices had been available in the city had either been used up, or hoarded like gold. There were no food safety laws anymore, but after a week of eating dusty mystery meals, it was worth the risk. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He made it through four of the blocks, palming a few eggs and an orange as he went. Then something else caught his eye. Or, more precisely, the lack of something. Between the buildings bore a large crater spanning several blocks. It traveled deep into the ground, deep enough to connect with the abandoned sewers beneath. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Whoa.” Donatello breathed in awe, “What on Earth could have made </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He saw a group of people huddled in the divide, talking amongst themselves. The area seemed quite familiar, though no street signs remained, nor were there very many landmarks left. Still, he considered risking the sewers once more to try and reach the lair. Maybe there would be more answers at home, or at least, his computer and a generator. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before he could make a decision, however, he heard an outcry from behind him. He turned to see a middle aged woman surrounded by Foot soldiers. She was begging the man not to take something from her stall. As Donatello inched closer, he realized that it was a large bottle of slightly murky water. He wondered why on Earth he would want something like that, before he realized that fresh water must be a well sought after commodity now. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He glanced around, hoping someone would step in to help, but every eye the soldiers met quickly turned away. Donatello realized in horror that everyone was ignoring what was happening, going about their business like this was acceptable. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Donatello could hear the soldier laugh at her through his mask. “As a citizen under the protection of the Foot, you’re required to help soldiers.” His companions goaded each other as he opened the large container, taking a large swig.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, please!” The woman begged, her arms stopping short of touching the man. “That’s our only gallon left!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man suddenly spit the water out, complaining about the gritty dirt mixed with the liquid. “No wonder you low-lifes die so quick out here.” The man threw the jug at the woman, the open container dowsing the area in the precious liquid. The woman dashed to pick it up, saving what water was left.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Donatello thought back to that old man he had seen, and shuddered. He was too slow to save him. Don wouldn’t make that mistake again. He stepped forward, deciding he couldn’t stand idly by any longer. “I hope you’re planning to pay for that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The soldiers each slowly turned away from the woman, eyeing Donatello’s mysterious form. He prayed that they wouldn’t catch the green underneath the cloak as he stood in front of them, determined. The soldier wiped his mouth as the second man moved his gun in hand. “Back off before you get mowed down kid.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Donatello stared at the two men, his hand slowly moving to his bo as he replied. “Well, you can’t say I didn’t try.” In a second it was over. His bo connected with the two bodies in a flash, the crack of wood echoing in the market. He turned to the third, tapping him in the face, causing him to reel back before crumpling to the ground. As they fell Donatello caught the lid to the jug, returning it to the woman in one swift motion. “There you are.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The woman looked at him in horror, her mouth hanging open, speechless. Donatello smiled under his cloak, turning back to the men as he spoke. “Now, what to do with you.” Unfortunately the only thing that met his eyes was the empty street. He followed the eyes of the crowd, catching the two soldiers taking off down the road. “Huh, well that was easier than I thought it would be.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He turned back to the woman, who growled at him intensely. “What kind of stupid are you?! Don’t you know how things work around here?” Donatello flinched, completely dumbfounded by the woman’s change in demeanor. “Oh god, they’ll destroy everything I have to make an example out of this.” The woman visibly paled, pulling at her hair in nervousness.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Donatello put his hands out in gentle consolidation. “Hey, it’s okay. I won’t let them hurt you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Donatello’s statement only lit the flame in the woman hotter as she whipped around to face him. “You idiot! Do you have a death wish? They’ll send you to the facilities!” She bit her finger, her eyes moving about wildly as she thought. “If I turn you in, maybe they’ll forget about everything.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before Donatello could protest, the woman grabbed a spiked bat from behind the stall, immediately taking after him. He realized it would be best to leave the woman to her own devices quickly before the masses turned on him too. He darted off into the crowd, hopping to distance himself from any witnesses. It didn’t take too long, as the woman was not in fact a skilled ninja, but the encounter made Donatello realize that his morals were probably better withheld until he understood society better.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Unfortunately, it had not been long after that he spotted more of the soldiers. He managed to stay out of their way, ducking into shops or groups to avoid their gaze, but Donatello could tell that the Foot were searching for him in calculated sweeps of the streets. He was pushed back towards the woman in question as soldiers began questioning people. He was quickly running out of options.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The grounds were steadily swarming with more soldiers. It wouldn’t be long before he had nowhere else to go. He glanced at the buildings. The rooftops were still close enough to jump from. It would be his best means of escape before they noticed. He managed to get to one of the windows before he heard a shout from behind him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Over there!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Donatello risked a look back to see one soldier pointing at him, ushering the squad of other soldiers his way. Donatello cursed, dropping from the building. There was still enough light out to where they could easily track him from above. Their vans would quickly outrun him, not to mention if he got stranded on one of the rooftops, it would be all over. He looked back to the crater nearby, weighing his chances. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The odds weren’t great, but he would have a greater advantage underground. </span>
  <em>
    <span>The darkness it is. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He slid down the muddy wall of the crater, using his shell like a sled to pick up speed. Once he hit the bottom, he rolled, ignoring the strange looks from the people gathered on the far end. He heard the voices from the soldiers gathering at the lip of the dip. He darted for the right side, moving into the shaded entrance of the crumbling tunnel as they made their way down. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Sorry for the slow chapter, I had to break up the original as I hadn't realized it was 8k words...</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>A few of the soldiers made it to the bottom as he passed by the sleeping forms of humans. Their huddled bodies enjoying the cool earthy shade from the sun. There weren’t enough side tunnels to veer off into and lose them. But with their military weapons and uniforms, Donatello was confident he could outpace them. That is, as long as he didn’t reach a dead end. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was forced to backtrack twice when his path was met with cave ins. The first time, he was lucky enough to be far enough ahead that it didn’t matter. The second time however, he was not so lucky. Thankfully the squad had split at each junction, thinning their masses. Unfortunately for Don, he had backtracked into a position that had them flanking on both sides. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had managed to take out two of the soldiers down this path with ease, but now was met with a life or death decision. Should he attack left and move farther in, risking becoming trapped? Or should he move right, backtracking to the entrance he came in, and hope that a line of soldiers weren’t waiting to mow him down? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There were too many variables, not enough time to calculate the chances. He decided to press his luck. He had gotten enough answers about the environment he found himself in, now he needed answers about his family.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stepped out into the tunnel, gripping his bo tight as he squared off against the eight men. Donatello normally would feel confident in the darkened sewers, but the Foot’s masks had a familiar lens over their eyes. Don would bet a lot of money that those were equipped with night vision. Several of the men closest to him had swapped out their rifle for weapons better suited for the enclosed space. Donatello eyed the pistols and knives. His bo could make quick work of them, but at the edges stood the rest of the group, rifles still trained on him. Once the men fell, he’d be an easy target.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He decided to risk breaking the flank. He charged the group to his left, weaving around the jabbs from their knives. He struck two of them, their pistols clattering to the floor. He fainted right, moving around the last one, and used his bo to vault over the rifle users. He twirled his weapon around, knocking them off kilter in one swift motion. Their padded shin guards absorbed most of the blow, but years of training with the strong wooden staff outmatched them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He knocked one of them out, the sound of their face guard cracking echoed in the tunnel. He grabbed the other one by their strap, hurling him into the others. Two managed to dodge out of the way and rush him. Donatello ducked down, sweeping his staff to catch on their feet. He managed to get one, but the other jumped over it, reaching him. He blocked the jabbs of the knife, but that left him open to attacks from the side. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sure enough, the one he had tripped recovered, rounding on him. He maneuvered the knife into the second soldier, using the momentum from a jab to send it into his comrade. Their armor must have been strong, because the soldier didn’t falter, and sent off a deafening shot at him. Thankfully, Donatello managed to twist in time, the bullet only grazing his plasteron. It sunk into the far wall, but the light from the blast was blinding, causing Donatello to become disoriented momentarily. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Only a few seconds were needed for them to take advantage of that. The two Foot soldiers pinned him to the ground, three more quickly aiming their pistols at him from above. He grunted against the dusty floor as he attempted to wiggle out of their restricting grasp. One of them moved forward, crouching down by Donatello’s face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I bet someone like you would do well at the training grounds.” The man grabbed at Donatello’s face, forcing him to look up. “I’d like to see how long it takes for that will to fight to crumble.” One of the men next to him chuckled, nodding his agreement. Donatello continued to struggle underneath the grip, causing the knee on his shell to bare down harder. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man stood back up, signaling to his men. “Let’s have a little fun before we take him away. Wouldn't want him running off again.” Now several of the men laughed in agreement. The two pinning him roughly moved him to a kneeling position. Donatello never saw the fist coming. The pain erupted in his jaw with such force it felt like he had been hit by a bat. He glanced back to see the rifle pulled back, ready to strike again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He attempted to stand, shift the men at his side to overthrow them, but they twisted his body up, presenting his torso to the men as they continued to beat on him. </span>
  <em>
    <span>This day just keeps getting better. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He thought, trying to keep his cries from bouncing down the tunnels. He tried to still his mind, not let the pain overcome him as he patiently waited for an opening. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He tried to keep his eyes open, not knowing where they would strike somehow made the pain worse when they did. It felt like an eternity had passed before the punches stopped coming. He cracked a bruised eye open to peer up at the man hovering over him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He gasped, realizing that the man who stood in front of him was missing a head. Even the remaining soldiers were frozen in shock at the image before them. The only sound they heard was the wet bounce of the man’s skull reaching the floor below him. Two of the men recoiled as the body finally toppled over, joining the head on the ground. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now having recovered, they whirled around, searching for answers in the darkness. Donatello couldn’t make anything out besides the soldiers. One of them released their hold on him to grab his pistol, the other forced him to his feet. When Donatello looked back up, two more of the soldiers were on the ground, lifeless. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Someone else is here.</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>None of the soldiers cried out. Each one of them fell in silence, dead before they hit the ground. Donatello himself couldn’t even catch the presence of the perpetrator. And when the hands released their grip on him, he turned, only to see the body laying beside him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“W-What just happened?” Donatello gawked at the squad, wiped out in the blink of an eye. He glanced around the tunnels, gripping his staff nervously. He wasn’t sure whether to be elated or afraid. The soldiers hadn’t been planning on killing him, but this mysterious creature? With the way his week had gone, Donatello figured he’d probably be finding out the hard way.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He snatched the headgear from one of the soldiers, placing it on his head as he adjusted the dial for optical clarity. Now more focused, Donatello was able to hear the slight flutter of cloth from behind him. He turned in time to see the edge of something move around the corner and quickly dashed after it. By the time he reached the turn, he was met again by the tail of black fabric. This time he dashed faster, calling out to it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, wait!” This continued for several turns, but Donatello didn't give up. He stilled his breathing, centering his movements as he decided to simply tail the stranger instead of confront them. After a while, the stranger slowed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now he could see the full form of the person. Yes, definitely a person and not a creature. They stood tall, cocking their head about at each junction, as if listening. They were cloaked in a black leather trench coat, the collar pulled up close to hide their face. He couldn’t make out any details on them. The coat provided a mysterious air. All at once he dashed down the left path and Donatello took off after him. But when he reached the corner, he was met with empty space. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And here I thought I was being followed.” From behind him Don heard a gruff voice, quiet, as if they were simply talking to themselves.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Donatello turned, his eyes finally meeting the face of the stranger he had been tailing. Their build was stocky and short, but muscular. Their face was worn and heavily scarred. Round black glasses covered their eyes, but underneath it all, Donatello made out the unmistakable face of his brother.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He felt like his knees would give way any moment, he tried to take off the headgear, to get a better look at his brother, as if not believing his own eyes. Quickly, he closed the distance. Relief washed over him like an overflowing cup. Something, something finally familiar in this strange off kilter world. Finally, the tug of loneliness he had been enduring the past week started to fade. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Leo!” Donatello called out as he approached, unable to contain the giddy grin on his face from appearing. As he reached him though, Leo simply sighed and turned away, as if he hadn’t heard Donatello at all. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Leo, it’s so good to see you.” Donatello followed him, unphased. “You really saved my shell back there.” Donatello cocked his head to each side, trying to peer at his brother’s face. Again, he was met with silence. Something didn’t feel right. Now cautious, Don reached out to a hand, calling to him once more. “Leo?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Leo hissed, shaking his head firmly as he clenched his fists. Donatello could hear the shaking in his voice as he whispered to himself. It wasn’t the actions his brother took that surprised Donatello, but the words his brother said. He cursed, calling out to their father in desperation. “How badly did I fail you, to deserve such torture?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Donatello didn’t move, frozen in place by the puzzling words of his brother. He recalled Michelangelo’s own puzzling words his first night topside, and wondered if it was somehow connected. It took Leo’s form ducking out of sight for Donatello to regain his composure. He moved to catch up with his brother, following his steps through the collapsed tunnel. There was barely enough room to maneuver, it was like a maze of small openings weaving throughout. If it weren’t for his brother in front, Donatello was sure he would get lost. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He couldn’t reach his brother in the tight space, but his hand wasn’t the only way that he could reach Leo. “Where are we going?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Leo sighed again, “You should know, you usually visit me there.” His voice sounded so very tired, like all hope had left him long ago. The tone made Donatello regret even asking.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>None of Leo’s answers made any sense. Sure, he had a tendency to reply with cryptic short answers or strange parables, but Don had no basis anymore for Leo’s words. He decided it would be better to just wait until they got to wherever Leo was taking them before he would try  again. Eventually they got far enough in that it became almost impossible to see. The fear of losing Leo in the pitch black made Doantello reach out, grasping the tail of his brother’s coat like a lifeline. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After what felt like an eternity of twists and turns in the pitch black tunnels, they made it to a clearing. Despite the uneasiness of the situation, Donatello looked back at the exit, a bit aw struck that his brother knew exactly where to go. When Don turned back around, Leo had already moved into the next room. Only the tattered cloth over the doorway swaying to give any indication. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Donatello moved inside, noting the dim light from a forgotten lanturn overturned in the corner. It must have been there for a long time, as the bulb was slowly dying, the dull yellow wire burning out from prolonged use. Noting the lived in look of the place, Donatello realized that this must be where Leo currently called home. They had never been one for the luxurious life, but this, this was just disheartening to see. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Leo’s place was made up of a single room, filled with a short supply of forgotten items. Donatello swept his eyes across the small space. He could count on less than both hands the amount of furniture he found. Rubble was stacked against the wall to his left. Past that was the lanturn and a pile of old boxes and clothing. There was a single bookcase, filled with a small array of books. The remaining shelves were filled with small boxes and jars that Donatello recognized from their father’s old room. Healing remedies. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a single mattress in the corner, propped up on wooden crates. Next to it was a broken nightstand housing a small cupboard. Leonardo sat on the mattress, its rusted coils creaking at the turtle’s weight. Donatello turned his attention back to him, watching as he set his sword behind him and shed his cloak. Donatello moved in front, hesitating to sit beside him as he noticed that the mattress was bare, its many aged stains on full display.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Leo,” Donatello started, his voice quiet, gentle, “what happened?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Leo responded by leaning off the bed, opening the night stand to retrieve a bottle of whisky and a cup. Donatello watched his brother pour a very generous amount into the glass, waiting patiently. Leo brought it up to his mouth, downing it with impressive speed. A minute passed and Leo turned back to the bottle. He poured himself another drink, the liquid almost reaching up and over the lip of the glass. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Donatello realized Leo was ignoring him, his voice grew louder. “Why won’t you answer me? Dang it Leo, look at me!” Donatello’s scowl suddenly faded when Leo began to laugh. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As Leo lifted the glass to his mouth he muttered to himself, “And they always said Mike was the one with the sense of humor.” Donnie watched in horror as the entire glass was finished off, Leo knocking it back without so much as a flinch. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Donatello was about to ask what on earth Leo had meant, but his brother took off his glasses, setting them beside the bottle on the nightstand and rubbed his tired eyes. There were several seconds of silence before Leo pulled his hand away. When Leonardo opened his eyes again, Donatello finally realized what Leo had meant. His brother had a far off look on his face, his tired eyes staring at the vast emptiness of the darkness, focusing on nothing in particular. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His pupils were grey and foggy. Don couldn't help but gasp as he glanced at the whitened irises on his brother's face. Finally it clicked into place for Donatello. If what Mikey had told him was true, then his brother’s had gone over a decade thinking he was dead. And if Don were honest with himself, he’d probably be feeling the whispers of his family in moments of weakness too. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Leo…” Donnie lowered his voice once more as he kneeled in front of his brother. “It’s me, it’s Donatello.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Leo’s hands started to shake, his fingers tightening around the empty glass in his hands. He moved one hand back to his face, kneading his knuckles into his temple as his breath hitched. “You say that every time.” Leo’s voice cracked, his tone shaking as he replied to the ghost. “I won’t be tricked again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Don wonders if all these years actually broke his brother. His courageous, strong, infinitely merciful older brother. “Leo, I’m right here, I promise I’m real.” Donatello reached out to touch his brother’s knee, only for Leo to bite his trembling lip and move it out of the way. He couldn’t fathom what events could have brought his brother to such a low point, but it broke his heart to see it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don't know what I can do to make you believe it, but I really am here.” Donatello moved both his hands to firmly grip Leo’s, trying to pry the glass from his death grip. “Please Leo, just trust me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As Donatello patiently waited, he studied his brother’s face. The fizzled light from the corner left soft, long shadows about the room. Leo had several old scars lining his face, but only one of them did Don recognize. The large linear gash was from when Leo had attempted to save Don in the elevator all those years ago. The attempt unfortunately ended with one of the elevator wires nicking his brother's face on the way down. He remembered it being quite prominent and reddish back then, but now it was simply a lighter green color from the rest of his skin. Instinctively, Donatello reached out to touch it, his brother flinching back at the sudden touch. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Deciding what he should do, he removed the cup from his brother's hand and placed it next to the bottle, gently moving Leo's hands towards his face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Leo, please, I know it's near impossible, I can't imagine what it's been like for you all these years, but I really am here. I’m not just some voice in your head.” Don placed Leo's hands onto the sides of his face, slowly releasing his grip on Leo as he allowed Leo to explore his features, hoping that this would prove to his brother that he wasn't just in his imagination. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>For several seconds, Leo's rough fingertips explored his brother's face. The calloused digits danced across Donatello's features, who struggled not to move under the tickling sensation. However, the movement suddenly stopped when Leo got to his eyes, the fingers cresting the outer corners. Leo’s hands fell away as he sighed and stood. Donatello waited for Leo to respond, but his brother simply poured himself a drink and sat back down, sipping it with earnest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Leo?” Don asked tentatively. Leo swirled the glass, staring down at it with voidless eyes. All he simply replied with was, “It was nice while it lasted.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Donatello stood, cocking his head. “I don't understand.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Leo finished off the drink, replying to the hallucination as he poured a fourth glass. “You really had me this time. But I guess even my brain’s too withered to manifest you at your proper age.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Donatello stared at his brother, the deafening silence drowning them both in the small room. Don studied his expression, and finally took in the changes of his brother's appearance. Leo looked much older now. He was stockier, with a little more muscle, and his eyes and mouth had prominent age lines. There were bags under his eyes, crows feet cresting them. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Crows feet</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Don thought. His hand flew up to his own face, still smooth and young. </span>
  <em>
    <span>That's what Leo had meant</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Donatello felt himself overcome with a sudden rage, snapping the glass from Leo’s lips before he could finish it. The glass slipped from their hands, shattering against the wall. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Spirits Leo, I'm right here! I'm not some...some delusion in your head!” Don’s voice boomed in the small room. “Everyone’s gone, I don’t know how I got here, and the Foot are running New York!” Leo covered his ears, shutting his eyes as he turned from his brother. “I need answers Leo! I need-” Leo moved away from Don, inching to the far wall on the bed. His shell turned away from him, huddling in on himself. “I need my brothers.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Through clenched teeth Leo replied, soft, wavering, “What did I do to deserve this, tell me Don, I can’t take it.” His voice was hoarse, and although Don couldn’t see it, he could hear the faint thump of tears hitting the old mattress. “I'm sorry I couldn't save you, I looked everywhere for you. I’ve begged for your forgiveness countless times but still you torment me!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Don immediately stopped his attack, stepping back at his brother's broken reaction. Donatello sighed, turning away from his brother. He knelt down to pick up the shattered remains of the glass, hearing the shuffle of his brother lying down. When he glanced back, Leo layed towards the wall, his shell still turned to him. The alcohol must have finally affected him because Leo’s slowed breathing indicated that he had fallen asleep. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was no pillow, but Leo didn’t seem to care. Donatello looked about the room, deciding his belongings would reveal more about his brother than Leo would in his current state. He began with the far corner, picking up as much of his brother's history as he could. Large cardboard boxes huddled near the fading light, forgotten much like Leo’s sanity. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He opened the first one, rummaging through the contents. There were old photos in the boxes, a thick layer of dust covering the protective glass. He picked one up, carefully handling it as he wiped away the thick layer of dust. The motion revealed the subjects like a magic trick, a new face appearing with each inch. He studied each of the people in the photo, his heart jumping as he recognized two of them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before him was a picture of his brother, much younger than he was now, in an all black uniform. There were three men standing in similar outfits around him, and in the middle, stood Karai, smiling. </span>
  <em>
    <span>No way</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Donatello peered closer at the image, piecing together what this image implied. </span>
  <em>
    <span>When did Leo become a foot soldier?</span>
  </em>
  <span> Neither Mikey nor Raphael were in the photo with them, and Donatello felt a sudden pull in his heart. It was hard to know for certain if it was loneliness, or betrayal that he felt.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Karai that Donatello remembered hadn’t inherently been evil, most of her so-called ‘honor’ mirrored much of Leo’s own. In fact, it had been Leo that usually rallied them to trust Karai in the past, sticking up for her. Don lowered the picture back into the box, when he really thought about it, it made sense that his brother would have teamed up with her to repair the city, much like they had when the Shredder died and the city had been sent into chaos the first time. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I guess I shouldn’t be surprised then, huh?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>But now Karai was no longer here, or she had betrayed them at some point. Donatello glanced at his brother’s sleeping form, absentmindedly wondering how he had gotten those other scars. Anger and sadness washed over him in fierce tidal waves. He breathed deeply and returned to the box, picking out the next framed photo. When he wiped away the grime covering it, he couldn’t help but smile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was an older photo that he recognized from the lair. The colors were worn and the image was slightly faded, but Don could still make it out all the same. The four of them were in the living room of the old lair, goofing off near the couch. They huddled together as Mikey held onto the camera, his thumb partially covering a corner of the lens. The four of them were a ball of turtle limbs as they draped their arms around each other, pulling each other in close to fit in the frame. In the back Don could make out their father, sitting on his worn chair, waving at the camera, a tired smile gracing his lips. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Donatello wished more than anything to be able to step into the photo, back into that much simpler time in their lives. He placed it too, back with the others, suddenly feeling too depressed to continue looking through the photos. Instead he turned to the bookshelf, reading the broken spines of the books lining the shelves. A stack of them had been thrown from their perch. Papers littered the floor from a book that was too weak to hold its form. Another had been sliced to bits, the clean cuts evident of the sword Leo carried. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He picked one up, leafing through the now yellow and stiff pages. He recognized a few from when they were young. He had seen Leo reading this particular novel many times at their home. It was an anthology of Japanese folklore that their father had picked up for him one time during a trip to Japan. Donatello even noticed some odds and ends from their lair and he wondered if his brother had snatched them in a moment of sentimentality. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Leo was never one to collect personal items, but he had been interested in history, japanese culture, traditional arts, spiritual expression, and the art of weaponry. He remembered the long bookshelf in the lair, stacked with a wide array of knowledge he had collected over the years. He had a chest of papers, brushes, and ink for calligraphy. Even had a few Japanese paintings on the wall. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But here… Donatello stood, gazing at the stark difference from his memories. This room painted a picture of his brother, one that Donatello did not like. His heart ached, thinking that after all they had sacrificed, this was the future his brothers were given. Unable to move on, stuck in an endless hopeless wasteland of New York, a ghost of what it once was. He looked over to his brother once more. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Don could see the slow shift from his breathing. He moved to the small wooden end table next to the bed, peering over at his brother. He was sleeping, but a hand still clasped around one of his swords in front of him. Still as prepared as ever. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Donatello noticed an object resting on the table beside him, and tentatively picked it up. It was an old fashioned voice recorder, it seemed so familiar, feeling right and fitting perfectly in Donatello's hands. The buttons were worn off from extensive use, and the gadget clearly had seen better days. He supposed it made sense that Leo would have this, it wasn't like he could write down important notes to look back on. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He clicked the play button, wondering what notes Leo would think were important enough to record. The voice he heard however, was not the one he expected. It wasn't until he clicked the play button, only to hear his own voice, that he realized it was </span>
  <em>
    <span>his </span>
  </em>
  <span>voice recorder. Leo must have found it and held onto it. Don was a bit flabbergasted as to why his brother would do such a thing, it wasn't like his scientific babblings were of any use to him, if he was even able to make any of them out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Donatello pockets it, placing the orange he nabbed earlier in apologetic exchange. He hovers over his brother’s form for a few moments longer, reaching out to touch his brother’s arm. At the last second he withdraws it. Leo’s fragile enough right now. Donatello shouldn’t expect him to react any differently than he had. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>With his brother offering all the information he could at the moment, Donatello reluctantly decided to leave. He took a final glance back at his brother, the tugging in his heart begging him to stay. Mikey’s own words echoed a reply to his thoughts. </span>
  <em>
    <span>There’s no family left for you here. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Don wondered if this was what his younger brother meant, and if it was true, did he even want to know what happened to Raphael? He didn’t know which would be worse, being rejected by his final family member, or finding out Raphael was dead.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He turned out of the room, placing the night goggles onto his head. With a determined gait, Donatello retraced his steps through the maze of concrete. He still needed to find the lair. Hopefully his past self left enough clues for him there. Then after that he needed to figure out what happened to him, to his family, and how he could help repair them.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The one thing that had been keeping Donatello going was his brothers. It had been the main driving force of his actions. But now that he had found them, he felt even more lost. The fact that both Leo and Mikey still existed in this time was nothing but a cold comfort now. Donatello wouldn’t lie, being alone would hurt less than being rejected. And right now Donatello couldn’t help but prefer being in this messed up world alone. His family would be gone, but they would still be whole. They wouldn’t be scattered and broken.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The rejection he felt still ebbed in his heart. It rubbed salt in his wounds, taunting him with the pain. You don’t belong here. Crawl back to whatever hole you’ve been hiding under. Where the driving hope of his brothers had been, was nothing but a hollow void. Hope was a dangerous thing. It was able to get you through the darkest times, but if it was dashed, it left devastating craters in your soul. If even their most upbeat of brothers had lost hope, then things were truly dire. His lack of options didn’t encourage any positivity either. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> The world here was unfamiliar, his enemies were new, shell even his brothers were different. All of these variables made for poor planning. He wasn’t even sure if this was an alternate timeline or in fact their active future. Donatello wished more than anything to have the old Leonardo or April here to help him figure things out. Throughout all his planning, one question that kept appearing wasn’t how he would get back, but if he could get back at all.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Theoretically time travel was always possible, at least, to the future. It wasn’t exactly scientifically possible to travel to the past. Only Renet’s scepter, fueled by magic, seemed to be able to do that. And without her here, and no way to contact her, well, that didn’t leave many other options. If he knew that the outer worlds were still connected to Earth, that could change things. But Donatello had no way of reaching out to Honeycutt or their friends on the Triceraton homeworld. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Donatello kicked the rock closest to his foot as he walked, the soft clattering offering him a welcome distraction from the overwhelming thoughts. He sighed, gripping his hands in front of him. What on Earth am I going to do? Donatello looked up, finally back at the junction he had followed Leo into. He wasn’t sure which way he should go, but considering how he left things above ground, he thought it best to stay in the sewers at least a couple days while things cooled down.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well,” Donatello started, “today’s a good a day as any to re-explore the sewers.” He brought out his shell cell, absentmindedly tinkering with it as he let his feet carry him further in. The gadget was a welcome distraction. It was still seemingly cut off from the outside world. Rather than disabled, it was as if something was blocking cellular waves externally. There was no way to bypass whatever kind of signal blocking this was. At least, not without interfering with the source.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The screen was a bright beacon in the dark tunnels. Without thinking, he clicked on his contacts, lovingly looking at his brother’s icons. His thumb hovered over Raphael’s. He was the only brother Donatello had yet to find. In fact, neither of his brother’s even mentioned him. Donatello’s heart pulled in his chest. What did that mean? </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Donatello knew it wouldn't work, but he clicked on his brother’s number anyway. Raphael’s picture filling the screen as it attempted to connect. As he waited, Donatello couldn’t help but smile at the memory. The photo had been taken during last year’s Christmas. Raphael donned a Santa hat and was in the middle of licking the leftover batter from the bowl of Christmas cookies. His face was covered in the stuff as he unabashedly went to town on the sugary concoction.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Suddenly the picture disappeared, and Donatello realized that the phone had failed to connect once more. Donatello stuffed the phone back onto his belt, focusing back on his surroundings. For a moment he felt confused, his surroundings seemed so familiar, but he couldn’t quite place why. The place was half caved in with rubble, but the remnants seemed like it had previously been lived in. Cautiously, Donatello crept closer in, scanning every inch for some type of clue. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The entire base of the area was flooded. Soft rays of light faded down to the rubble littered floors. Donatello waded through, reaching one of the large slabs further in. The area was circular, strong foundations set in place as tall pillars reached up into the sky. Orange and blue hues tinted the weathered structures.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Donatello hopped from each large rock, moving to the center of the area. From where the floor above had caved in left a rather large pile of concrete piled up in a small mound. Donatello used this perch to better survey the area. It was too dark to make out much, the reflections rippling in the pool only making the scene more confusing as it was beautiful. As he moved into the source of light, he felt the soft tapping of water on his shell. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He peered up, his hand quickly moving to shield his eyes as rain dripped down from the sky above. Now that he was directly under the light of the moon, Donatello could see the dark clouds rolling overhead. He was deep underground, over one hundred feet from the surface as far as Don could tell. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Something incredibly large and powerful must have made that many floors collapse. What surprised Donatello however, was not the hole, but rather, what surrounded it. As cracked and broken as the architecture was, it was unmistakable. Donatello would recognize those arches anywhere. They were Y'Lyntian designs. The same arches that lined the walls of their home. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No way.” Donatello gasped, moving his gaze back to his immediate surroundings. The clouds dispersed just enough for the moon to grace the area with its light once more. The soft light bounced off of the water surrounding Donatello on his island. For a brief moment he could see the moon’s face, full and blinding, on the still surface of the water before the next rain drop shattered the image.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>If it weren’t for the small light source above, Donatello wouldn’t have been able to make out the details of his home. From where he stood Donatello could figure out that underneath his feet was the remains of the bridge that centered their old lair. The skate ramp was completely destroyed, as were all the wall monitors in what was once the living room. Much of the second floor had been destroyed, the pillars supporting it ripped from their position. It was hard to figure out the proper orientation, as the flooded ground covered most identifiable areas.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Thankfully Donatello could still make out the doorways to their rooms above, but getting up there was the issue. Without the support beams or ladders, he wouldn’t be able to simply climb up, not unless he planned to take out a section of the lip of the second floor. He turned to what he vaguely remembered being the elevator, seeing that the path to it was also blocked. Donatello stepped down off the mountain of rocks, somewhat giddy, only to slip on one of the slick edges. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He fell onto his shell, the curved back sliding him into the watery moat. His hand moved to catch himself, instead meeting with the jagged edge of a rock. He hissed, withdrawing his hand as he attempted to find his footing. He placed both hands out to steady himself as he stood, feeling quite light headed suddenly. He must have been much more exhausted than he thought. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He realized he hadn’t eaten for quite some time, and considered it foolish to try and venture up in the dark. So he waved the idea of getting to the bedrooms and decided it would be better to try in the morning. He cupped his hand protectively as he weighed his options.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>With the couch destroyed under one of the broken pillars and no way up, Donatello decided the only option was their father’s old bedroom. He stared at the door, it stood out like a foreboding ghost, untouched by the destruction surrounding him. He waded through the water, careful to keep his injured palm out of the unsanitary waters. He heaved himself out and onto the pebbled path.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The sliding door was cracked open, the paper molded and disintegrating from years of enduring the moist environment. He pushed the door back, his beak colliding with it as it refused to budge. Donatello scowled, leaning on it fully as he forced it open wider. He refused to break down the door. Defiling his father’s room felt sacrilegious, even if he didn’t use it anymore. Finally, Donatello managed to finagle the screen open. Donatello took a deep breath, and with a heavy heart, he made his way into their father’s old sanctum.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Not much light made its way inside, but what little did revealed a thick layer of dust in the air. The particles swirled about mesmerizingly, freed from their place in eternal slumber. Donatello made his way through, sweeping his feet along the creaking tatami mats. The room was surprisingly intact. Like the aging items were preserved in time. Everything felt so fragile, as if a single touch was all it took for the room to disintegrate.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Donatello moved to the right, kneeling where their father’s large wooden chest was kept. He opened it, searching blindly for his prize. Inside held many candles, scrolls, inks, and incense. The inks had long since dried up, but the other items had remained protected in the wooden case. Donatello pulled out a few candles, placing them on the wooden shelves above as he lit them. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A soft orange glow filled the room. With each flame that appeared, so did a feeling of warmth inside Donatello. He brought one candle with him into their Master’s room. It felt wrong to sleep in there, no one had since their father passed. But, with everything that had happened, Donatello wanted nothing more than to feel his father’s reassuring presence again. For once since he woke up in this desolate future, he felt safe.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Setting the candle down, Donatello took out what dry wrappings he had. Carefully, he wrapped his hand. Thankfully the cut wasn’t too deep, but the consistent throbbing was surprisingly painful. It would be hard to work while it healed. Donatello sighed, too tired to strip himself of anything but his bo.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He laid down on the forgotten sheets. They smelled of nothing but dust and murky water now, but Donatello could still feel the safety of his father’s presence around him. He grasped the edge of the blanket, staring at the dancing flame on the end table. He let his mind blank as his gaze unfocused. He felt a familiar feeling bubbling up inside him. It started in his chest, creeping up into his throat until it became hard to breath. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He rubbed his face into the blanket, letting his tears catch in the worn cloth as he whispered. “Oh Father, I wish you were still here.” His voice was quiet, barely squeaking out of his throat. But in the silence, it was far too loud. It echoed off the bare walls, bouncing back to his ears only to remind him of just how alone he was. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He fell asleep soon after, dreaming of nothing but the vast blackened void. There was no way to know the hour from inside Splinter’s room. The only evidence that time had passed was the melted stump of a candle stick on the side table. Though he slept as much as his body wanted, Don still awoke feeling none fresher than he had the night before. He sat up, hissing as the weight on his cut stung against the sheet. As he swung his legs over the side, his stomach grumbled loudly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Man, I really wish I had something to eat.” He held his stomach, peering up at the ceiling as he thought. “I wonder if any of Mikey’s old rations are still viable.” As if responding, his stomach growled again. Donatello smiled down at his plastron, patting it in response. “Alright, calm down. We’ll go food hunting.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Now somewhat rested, Donatello could think a little clearer. The sun was out now. The light drowning the vastness in blinding rays that bounced off the water’s surface. Donatello hefted himself over a large pile of rubble, heading for what he hoped was the garage. Something in there could prove useful in reaching the second floor. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sure enough, the room was intact, the door having been knocked off its hinges. Donatello brought a few candles in, using the light to find the cabinet that housed spare flashlights. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ah-ha!” Donatello snagged one of the large torches, switching it on excitedly. The light buzzed a bit, the orange wire in the bulb lazily flickering. “Come on.” Donatello encouraged, rapping the flashlight against his good hand. Finally the light evened out, providing more power than the small candles. Donatello blew out the candle, setting it down before he swept his new light source over the garage. Donatello frowned, it was evident that the place had been ransacked. Everything that Donatello remembered having been completed, or close to completed was gone. Everything else was either half baked projects, or simply crushed and forgotten remains. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was hard to look at. All the memories, the countless hours he spent here, gone in the blink of an eye. The worst part though, was that he didn’t even know why, or how. His computer towers were gone, and half of the monitors that remained were shattered. His research papers and blueprints had been rifled through and thrown to the floor. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Donatello stooped to pick one of them up, recognizing it as his old notes from when he was studying the crystals from the underground. He placed it gently back down, moving to replace the overturned table. What on Earth happened? Donatello abruptly stopped, huffing at himself.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m getting real tired of asking that question.” Before he could get distracted any further, his stomach growled again. The sudden noise scared him, almost dropping the torch in surprise. He chuckled to himself. “Right, food is more important right now.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Donatello moved to the corner, behind a forgotten old prototype of the shell tank. He smiled to himself as he spotted the metal ladder, still forgotten in the corner after all these years. It was in surprisingly good shape, all things considering. He dragged it back out into the open area, extending it to reach the lip of the second floor. He nestled it snugly in between the rocks before testing the hold. After deeming it safe, Donatello finally made his way upwards.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Donatello felt a strange emotion overcome him, but it was too fleeting, disappearing before he had time to place a name to it. He decided against peering into his brother’s rooms, making a bee-line to Mikey’s. As he passed his own room though, curiosity won against his hunger, and Donatello stopped to assess its state. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Inside was nearly intact, though it had been rummaged through. It was wild seeing the layout, so similar, but plagued by time. Donatello was morbidly impressed. Dust covered every inch of the room, and a good amount of mold and moss was starting to overtake the walls. He eyed the boxes under his desk, knowing a few nuggets of usable tech were stashed away there.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Donatello retreated from the room, the curtain swinging back into place behind him. I have to find food first, then I can start working. He moved down the line to Michelangelo’s room, still hoping to find those rations. When he entered however, he did not recognize the room.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mikey’s bunk bed was gone, replaced by a simple mattress on the floor. Donatello moved his eyes across the walls, looking for the iconic movie posters his brother had strived so hard to get signed. Instead, there was nothing but the taped edges on the concrete, the posters clearly having been ripped from their hold.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Donatello stepped further inside. He moved to the shelved wall that should have held his brother’s action figure collection, only to find a half open bag in its place. No string lights, comic books, knicknacks, it was as if someone had stripped away all of his brother’s personality from the room. I suppose he could have just moved out. Donatello offered himself. He looked back to the bag, the open lip taunting him in.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He rifled through it, quietly hoping to find some of the missing items inside. Instead, inside were candles, headphones, shirukin, lock picks, bandages, and his shell cell. Donatello couldn’t fathom why Mikey would forget his phone, but kept going. Don moved his hand deeper in, his finger’s grazing against something familiar. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He pulled the object out, the chains tinkling as he gazed at them in disbelief. In his hand were his brother’s nunchucks. One of them was splintered, the orange hue faded. The chains were beginning to rust despite having lived inside the rucksack. He ran his thumb over the aged wood, his face falling as he recalled their last meeting. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He whispered to the weapons, feeling suddenly heavy inside. “What happened to you, Mikey.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Silently, he stored them on his belt, turning back to the room to look for the telltale crack in the wall. He found it fairly easily behind the desk, and crouched next to a forgotten box of paints. He pushed them aside. Underneath the cracked block, Donatello shimmied the brick. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It took a few good tugs, but eventually it knocked loose. Donatello waved the flashlight inside, not entirely keen on sticking his hand in an uninspected and potentially spider infested wall. No matter how hungry he was. Thankfully the hollow seemed to be undisturbed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He peered in around the light, finding the treasure trove of dried foods still intact. Donatello swept the food onto the floor, rummaging through the packs for something readily edible. He ripped open the protein bar, scarfing it down quickly. His stomach sung with happiness, and Donatello followed up with a content hum. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Mikey, I swear if I get back, I’ll never tease you about your zombie apocalypse preparation again!” Despite the powdery and stale texture of the bar, it tasted like heaven to the turtle. Donatello lined up his goods, silently thanking his brother for not including only highly preserved junk food. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>With this and the eggs he swiped the day before, Donatello rationed out his meals. He needed to lay low as long as he could, which means he needed to eat as little as his body would let him without severe side effects. He wouldn’t be doing any high energy activities for the next couple days, so it should work out fine. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The rest of the day Donatello spent trying to repair the generator and setting up more permanent lights besides the candles. Deep down Donatello knew it wasn’t really that safe here, what with that giant hole in the roof. Anyone could peer down and see into the main area. He would have to do something about it soon. Until then he needed to keep the noise down, and keep the lights off at night. It was better to be safe than sorry.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Next he gathered what he could of his electronics and herded them all into his room. Under his bed sat a seemingly useless box of parts, but they were necessary when it came to repairs. And boy, did Donatello have a lot of repairing to do. His room soon became overrun with cables, tools, and fragmented screens. He worked on it late into the next night, almost starting a fire twice. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eventually the makeshift tower whirred loudly, the green flickering lights attempting to communicate. Donatello gripped the screen in his lap with excitement. “That’s it, you can do it!” Donatello stared at the screen, waiting as the familiar logo appeared on the black background. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Donatello kissed the monitor loudly before placing it back down. “Finally we can figure out just what in Darwin’s beard has been going on around here.” The logo faded away, replaced by the white flickering of the I-bar. Donatello typed away at the screen, the motherboard too far gone to fully reboot properly. He opened up the command menu on the boot up screen. The least he could do was see what signals were still online. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His computer was connected to the shell cells, but with how long it had been, Donatello wondered if they were even still functioning. He plugged his shell cell into the computer, hoping to rig the system to bypass the block just long enough to get a call through. He used one of his old programs to detect the code of the signal. As the screen loaded, Donatello took one of the coiled wires, and unrolled it onto the floor below. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The rain from a few days ago had quickly returned, the storm clouds from above blocking Don’s sense of time. The rain had flooded the first floor quite a bit, and the cold concrete and stone held strong to the chill it brought. He could hear thunder rumbling in the distance. He climbed back down, placing a large metal antenna in the middle of the mountain of rubble. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Alright, you should get the best signal here.” Donatello connected the long wire to it before scampering back up the ladder to check on the computer. It had finished loading the program, and was successfully gathering data on the blocking transmission. He hoped that another day would yield enough data to find a workaround. Donatello didn’t like to throw all his eggs in one basket, but this was more or less a Hail Mary.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Now with nothing to do but wait, Donatello finally made his way to the other rooms. Part of him still didn’t want to see, not after he learned how much Mikey’s own had changed. Their rooms reflected who they were, and although their meeting had been brief, it was clear that Mikey wasn’t a goofy, loving kid anymore. Truth be told, Donatello was afraid, but his craving for information tended to overcome his fears. And so, he made his way to Raphael’s room.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The room had almost completely caved in. One of the pillars from above had smashed through the ceiling. It was almost impossible to tell what information the tattered remains held, but Donatello did catch the remnants of his brother’s punching bag crushed in the corner. He ventured in further, sweeping his light in and around the rocky landscape.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Magazines peeked out between the rubble. Raphael’s tall speaker sat in the corner, next to a frayed guitar. Old street signs and movie posters still hung on the intact walls. Donatello figured he should feel at ease with the unchanged layout, but it’s presence only asked more questions. Questions Donatello was afraid to find the answers too.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Raphael was the one brother he hadn’t seen yet. A cold shiver crept into his shell as the thought as to why that was crossed his mind. Donatello felt the rush of cold air flow in from the doorway, noting the sheets of rain beginning to descend outside. He crouched underneath the caved in ceiling, having caught a bit of red cloth between the rocks. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hesitantly, he touched it, the rough texture stiff from years of moisture. He thought for a moment it was the same cloth as his brother’s mask, but the material was different. He moved some of the rocks out of the way, revealing more of the item. It was Raphael’s hammock. His mind filled with images of his brother lazily swinging in the bed, twirling his sai as rock music pierced through the speakers in his room. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Suddenly thunder roared throughout, sounding far too loud in the small space. Donatello jumped back as a stray rock tumbled down where he had been crouched. It was hard not to make awful assumptions in the room. Knowing Raphael, his hasty and passionate attitude, it wouldn’t be too far of a stretch to assume that he bit off more than he could chew during the invasion.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Donatello gripped the flashlight tightly, turning out of the room and away from the question. Suddenly he felt angry. Despite everything he had thought the night he found this place, despite the rejection he felt from his other brothers, the thought of never seeing Raphael again was too much. He wouldn’t even get the </span>
  <em>
    <span>chance </span>
  </em>
  <span>to be rejected. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Donatello shuffled back to the lip of the second floor, feeling the spitting rain mist over his skin. He felt the numbing emptiness threaten to rear up inside him again. Its hollow void aching as it spread in his heart. He slumped to the edge of the path, curling in on himself in feigned comfort. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What am I supposed to do?” Donatello whispered to the rain.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He looked up, flinching as a few stray drops hit his eyes. It was surreal and beautiful watching the water pour into the center of the lair, like a circular waterfall. Thin curtains followed the path as rainfall collected on the surface, following the dip of the Earth down below. For a moment, Donatello lost himself in the beauty. The ache eventually subsided, leaving him no better than before. Suddenly his torch flickered, rousing Don from his stupor. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He lightly hit the torch against the heel of his hand, shaking the battery in its case. The light evened out, although dimmer, and Donatello realized he would need to charge the battery soon. He turned away, moving back towards his own room. His eyes, however, landed on Leonardo’s doorway, the only one he hadn’t been in. He supposed he was being childish avoiding it, but after seeing the state Leo had been in, he was afraid to look there most of all.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Finally he gathered enough courage, taking a deep breath as he entered. He half expected it to be bare like he had found Mikey’s. Instead he was greeted with a sight that made his stomach drop. His eyes widened as he stood gawking at the scene. At first he thought that the room had also been rifled through or damaged in the collapse, but it quickly became clear that there was no method to the mess. Only chaos. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Donatello swept the light over the scene, noting the dangers as he shuffled his way in. Furniture had been completely overthrown, shelves ripped from the wall, ink splattered against everything. The bookshelf was overturned, novels, textbooks, and scrolls shredded to pieces. Plants were long shriveled up, their pots and soil crushed into the ground. Slash marks littered the stones and destroyed mattress. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There was no logic to the actions, only emotion, raw and intense. Even now, long after the events had transpired, Donatello could feel the overwhelming energy of the room. It scared him. Donatello turned away from the scene. He wanted nothing more than to understand what caused such an intense change in his brother. Did it have to do with the Foot? With Donatello’s disappearance? With Raphael? Not being able to figure it out killed Donatello, but this was a puzzle he couldn’t solve, not without all the pieces. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Donatello headed back to Mikey’s old room, dropping off the torch in his own to let it charge. He grabbed a few candles despite feeling quite silly at the idea of a candle-lit dinner. Halfway through a cold can of beans, Donatello noticed the corner of a paper peeking out from underneath his brother’s mattress. Curious, Donatello set aside the can and pulled the piece out. It was a newspaper clipping. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The article cut was about the construction of the new Foot tower at the heart of New York. Unfortunately, the paper itself didn’t hold much other information except for the tower itself. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Why would Mikey have this under his bed?</span>
  </em>
  <span> He set the paper next to the can and stood by the mattress. He lifted the corner, catching another piece stuffed further down. He hefted it against the wall with a grunt, feeling something flutter against his foot. He looked down to see a pile of clippings spread out below him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Whoa.” Donatello whistled, crouching beside them to pick out as much as he could from the headings. As he did however, Don noticed strange markings on the floor. There were too many to be accidental. The lines covered the entire floor underneath the bed. Don counted almost one hundred of them. He shook his head, placing the mattress back with a thud. “One mystery at a time Donatello.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He picked up a few of the pieces, noting the handwriting on the margins. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Mikey had been collecting information on the Foot</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Most of the scrawlings ended in question marks, but all of them were unmistakably his brother’s. In the middle of the pile laid one article, bright red markings circling the heading multiple times. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“A new face in the Foot takes over peacekeeping efforts after the former leader’s disappearance. The newly appointed head, Norikazu Sakai, held a press conference to assure the people that he will continue to oversee the rebuilding of New York in the coming years. Mr. Sakai has also agreed to continue the ongoing search for former leader Karai Oroku.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No way,” Donatello breathed, trying to place the clippings in the proper order. Thankfully, most of them were dated, so pasting the timeline to the wall took less than an hour. “All this time, the missing answers were here.” Donatello stepped back, eyeing the newly decorated wall. Mikey had been collecting information for years. Don didn’t know why, but he was certain he could find out.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At the very beginning of the timeline, Mikey had an assortment of knowledge about the invasion. Apparently it had been brought about by the Krang. There were pieces of paper, scrawling, taped to specific articles, writings that left Donatello impressed. They talked about the Krang, their technology, theories about the technodrome, as well as schematics. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Don wasn’t sure who this information was written by, but the handwriting was familiar. The thought crossed his mind that perhaps Mikey had, but considering the timeline, it was more likely that April or Leatherhead had. Don moved down the line further, coming across the first major event after the invasion started. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“New York’s savior comes in the form of a peacekeeper of Japanese descent. Karai Oroku has rallied a task force to beat back the aliens, known as Krang, and protect New Yorkers. Together with her elite teams, the Krang's efforts to terraform the state have been thwarted. Many locals have begun petitioning for Karai to be elected an official authority for the state during this desperate time.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Donatello shook his head, moving to the second page. “Even seeing it for myself, it’s hard to digest. Who would have thought Karai would end up leading the whole state?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Ms. Oroku was seen leading a rally in downtown Manhattan after fending off yet another attack from the Krang. This time, Karai and her elite team, known as ‘Foot Soldiers’, allowed a press conference to take place. During this time she commented on the city's interest in her role.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>‘With the military forces too cowardly to protect their own people, it is up to each and every one of us to protect each other and take care of those in need. New York is our home. Now is the time for us to rally together! The Krang want our city? I say let them try!’”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But how did it turn out like this?” Donatello asked himself. He studied all of the colored pictures in the article, trying to make out his brother’s writing. He had circled each individual of Karai’s team, naming them off. Donatello didn’t recognize the names, but for some reason Mikey thought it was important enough to depict. Many of the next few months involved the same similar events.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Karai’s popularity in the city eventually led to quite a status. No longer was she simply leading the underbelly of New York, but it seemed like it was the whole as well. She implemented safety procedures, rallied volunteers for Foot tactical teams, shelters, food stations and the like. She was well received with the people. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Further down the line was when the technodrome finally showed. There was a single picture of the strange ship, only a fraction of it peaking through the portal that ripped through the sky of New York. The article was mostly fluff about the theories and potential outcomes of the strange device. People feared that this was the second wave of the Krang War, and would finally see the fall of Earth.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Oddly enough, there was only one article during this time about Karai. Her Foot tower had completed its transition as a beacon of hope for New York, and she had held a press conference at the opening. The building also served as a base of operations for the new Foot Army, and citizens were encouraged to create strong holds for their families or evacuate to the outer rim. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>This article was the only other one to have scientific field notes attached to them. They talked about the Krang’s Dimensional Portal and the possibility of a dark matter accelerator. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Donatello’s head skipped. </span>
  <em>
    <span>A dark matter accelerator?</span>
  </em>
  <span> That was dangerous science. Whoever came up with that idea was either stupid, or desperate. Dark matter was chaotic at best. The science of it was too advanced, too unstable and devastatingly powerful for our current understanding. In the wrong hands it could tear apart the entire planet.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mikey had seemed to categorize the newspapers by event, the next one surprisingly being the end of the Krang War. All of New York was celebrating despite the losses, with Karai promising to help rebuild New York in the coming years. Donatello skimmed over the rest in the pile, all of them having similar coverage. Karai was actually doing quite a lot for the city, rebuilding it from the ground up.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It wasn’t until a year later that Donatello spotted someone familiar. In one of the press conferences Karai had appointed a new team of elite Foot soldiers to work closely with her as they maintained peace in the city. To her left, stood a smaller, stocky figure. Donatello instantly recognized the outfit and the team members from a similar photo he had seen recently. Specifically, a photograph he had seen in Leonardo’s new home. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>So it is true. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Donatello sat back, looking from the photo with mixed feelings. His brother really had joined the Foot. He glanced back at the beans, suddenly realizing he wasn’t feeling very hungry. His eyes began to hurt from straining in the dim light, and the heavy atmosphere of the storm was bringing on an intense headache.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He looked back to the wall, realizing he was almost finished. “I suppose it would be silly to stop now.” Donatello sighed, standing back up. Only one article remained. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Five years?!” Donatello gawked at the date. The gap in time was huge compared to the previous ones, and Don couldn’t understand why there was such a stark change. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“New York’s own tigress, Karai Oroku, has gone missing as of last Thursday. The fierce and compassionate leader had spent the last years rebuilding society in the city, and was just beginning to reach the state as a whole. No doubt the people are reeling after the devastating news. Foot soldiers and citizens are working tirelessly to find the beloved savior of New York.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Donatello moved to the next page, noticing the highlighted name of Norikazu Sakai. Donatello remembered seeing that name in the first clipping he found. He turned to the pile, picking up the piece and setting it at the end of the line. Sakai was the person who took over for Karai. He turned the paper over, noting Mikey’s handwriting. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Karai’s right hand?</span>
  </em>
  <span> Mikey had circled Sakai’s face. Underneath it were two simple words. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Ask Leo. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p><span>Donatello began organizing the events in his mind. The new information helped him make sense of the change in the world and his brothers. </span><em><span>So that’s what had happened</span></em><span>, Donatello thought bleakly. He gingerly touched the photo of his brother, wondering how many times Leo had been knocked down before he finally couldn’t find the strength to get back up. </span><em><span>No wonder Leo had been overcome with guilt, losing both his brother and Karai.</span></em> <em><span>Anyone would go crazy spending that long looking for ghosts</span></em><span>. </span></p>
<p>
  <span>Donatello placed the photo back, the image of his brother huddled on the mattress replacing it. “I’d be willing to bet that you think you failed us, huh Leonardo?” Again that itching in his brain popped back up. He stood staring at what he could guess were most, if not all, the pieces. Yet still something was missing, it taunted him relentlessly. He looked back to the schematics of the Dimensional Portal. Where had he seen it before?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He grabbed the picture of the technodrome, placing it next to the schematic. He stared at the two, hoping something would click into place. But the only thing that did were his thoughts of Leo. Despite his better judgement, Donatello grabbed a cloak and headed back into the sewers. The Foot soldiers could still be searching the tunnels, but throwing his thoughts at the bricks wasn’t going to give him anymore answers.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>For several hours Don scoured the sewers, massaging the pressure building up in his temple. He managed to find the old path he remembered seeing his brother on, but from there, he was lost. No matter which tunnel he turned to, he couldn’t make it back to the maze of debris he remembered following Leo through. Frustrated, tired, and with a migraine resurfacing, Donatello kicked the closest rock down the path. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A pressure built up in his chest as he huffed, no longer able to hold back. He cupped his hands to his mouth, calling out to his brother. The sound traveled down the many paths, echoing loudly. Donatello instantly regretted the action. In a moment of exasperation, he had forgotten the possibility of drawing unwanted attention. There was no guarantee that Leo would even respond to his call. If his last encounter had taught him anything it was that Donatello was nothing more than a guilt-ridden hallucination to him. He never should have left. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The day had been emotionally draining and left the turtle more tired than he had realized. The rain had yet to let up, and the cool air had lowered the temperature significantly in the lair. Donatello shivered, pulling the old cloak he wore closer. He headed into his own room, checking on the computers he had set up earlier. He stared at the numbers on the screen. Leatherhead, April, Casey, and of course, his brothers. The program was set to repeatedly try to connect to each number, moving down the line if the connection failed. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As he sat in front of the buzzing screen, Donatello heard the soft crackle of thunder from above. The wind steered the rain to the sides, shaking the ladder in the process. Thankfully the rooms were sheltered enough. Donatello rubbed his temple. The lack of proper water and food had left him with a constant headache. At least now he had a proper supply of one of those. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The boot up process of his program had been running fairly slowly, though, understandable considering how old the set up now was. He needed to think about the long term. There was no guarantee that he would even be able to get a message out, let alone if the shell cells were even still functioning this many years later. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His gaze meandered down to the count in the corner. It was over eighty percent, but the numbers climbed at an achingly slow rate. There was no way to get the board more processing power without access to better technology. He tried to outlast the loading as it neared completion, but when his eyes drooped one too many times, he nearly face planted into the monitor. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He yawned, stretching his hunched form as he groaned. Deciding he wasn’t going to be able to last much longer, Don plugged his cell into the computer. He was unsure if the storm would inhibit or aid him at this point, but he had yet to invent something to change the weather, so for now he’d have to make do.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Withdrawing for the night, Donatello trudged over to his own bed. He fell into it, momentarily forgetting that it had been untouched for over a decade. In an instant the frame crumpled underneath the sudden weight, the mattress folding with the turtle’s form. Donatello flailed in panic for a moment before realizing that he was stuck on his shell. He calmed himself down, rolling away from the broken planks, careful not to collide with the rig on the floor. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So much for sleep.” He sighed as he looked at the remnants of his bed. He pulled the cloak tighter, venturing out to find another bed. He could head back to Master Splinter’s room, the worn tatami mats weren’t so bad. But climbing down the ladder seemed too much of a chore at this point, and Donatello wasn’t all that confident he could get down without slipping in his sleepy state. In the end he remembered the state of Raphael and Leonardo’s own rooms, and opted to head back to Mikey’s.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He headed over to the simple bed, beating the mattress with his staff to rid it of pests and dust. He moved the blanket, feeling slightly disgusted when it remained stiff. He threw it to the floor and snuggled himself against the wall. Although it was cold, he was too exhausted to find one in a better state. He wrapped the cloak tightly around himself, letting his body warm itself in the insulated ball he created. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Although he was exhausted, sleep did not come fast enough. He stared out the door of the room, lazily watching the flashes of lightning dance off the walls. Eventually the white noise of rain lulled him to sleep, the storm providing atmosphere to his dreams. Donatello dreamt of his brothers, but not even his dreams were kind enough to grace him with an escape from the harsh reality he had found himself in.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He heard the footsteps first, an unknowable force taunting them with its presence. He heard the commotion in Leo’s room. Furniture colliding with the ground, crashing and collapsing in sharp snaps. He heard the slashes, the grunts, and finally the ear splitting cries. The noise was long and drawn out, the piercing shrill noise tapering out in a gurgle of spit. His heart tore from his body, knowing that Leo was gone. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He cursed and writhed inside himself, attempting to break whatever paralyzing hold had taken over his body. He didn’t want to believe it. He had to check on Leo. Again the footsteps came, closer, closer, ever closer. He begged his body to move, to wake up, but it refused to listen. He felt frozen, his body holding him prisoner in his own mind. He begged the spirits for whatever it was to leave them alone, to spare the rest of them from Leo’s untimely fate.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When the footsteps stopped, he wondered for a moment if it had worked. He stopped, listening intently as hope blossomed inside him. Then the surprised outcry from Mikey dashed it all away. It was nothing like Leo’s, it was short, quick, and just as painful to overhear. He heard the splatter of blood, a whimper, and then silence, his imagination filling in the missing pieces. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It felt like his insides were being torn out from inside him. Never had he felt so many emotions mix together. It was overwhelming. Fear bubbled up inside him. He wanted to cry, scream, lash out, but his body betrayed him. Not even his eyes would open. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He heard the blade grate against the stone, taunting as the creature continued its march.  Soon the footsteps continued once more, the echo growing louder as they inched closer. He could feel the reverberations through the ground, a cold shiver rushing over him when they stopped once more. In an instant, Donatello knew they were at Raphael’s door. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>No, please!</span>
  </em>
  <span> Donatello begged, he could feel the sting of tears building up behind his eyelids. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I don’t want to be alone again!</span>
  </em>
  <span> Out of the three, this one was by far the worst. Because of how close Raphael’s room was, he could hear with crystal clear clarity the events that transpired. It didn’t leave much for Donatello’s imagination.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The creak of the hammock, the outcry of surprise, the mad dash for his weapons-- all played out with the hammering in his chest. He heard the blades connecting, the pained grunt as Raphael was knocked into the wall connecting their rooms. It shook the entire bed, teasing Donatello with how close he was to the fight, powerless to intervene. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The noises mixed with a whirlwind of metal clangs and pained hisses. He followed the movements of the two through the crashes around the room. They toppled over the weights, causing them to roll to the floor. He heard the snap of wood as the speaker was thrown. He screamed at his body to move, to join his brother in the fight. But all too soon the fighting stopped. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He heard the surprised inhale of breath from Raphael, followed by the clatter of his weapons. Donatello felt the panic rise inside him. He felt bile in his throat, threatening to choke him as he lay there frozen. He listened in agony as he registered the wet thump of his brother’s body hitting the concrete floor, and Donatello was once again left in silence.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The emotions overwhelmed him, his heart felt like it was bursting out of him. The intense beating sent sharp pains shooting through the lining of his heart as it swelled. Another cold shiver ran over his body, deep enough to feel in his bones. His mind lagged behind his body, it realizing first why the overwhelming fear had returned. The thumping noise wasn’t his heart he was hearing in his ears, it was the footsteps moving towards him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They moved slowly, drawing out the anticipation between each one. The anxiety, fear, and loss built up inside Donatello, mixing into one big urge to throw up. His senses felt on fire, each adrenaline fueled node teeming with electricity. He could hear them clearly now, the footsteps. Even without being able to see, he knew that the intruder was now inside his room. He could feel it hovering over him, waiting.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Whatever fate his brothers had suffered, soon he would be next. Every inch of his being was on fire, resigning to fight without his vision if need be. He could feel it leaning over him now, waiting to pounce. There was a moment of stillness as it watched him, and Donatello held his breath. He ceased his internal fight against his own body, becoming as still as death. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In a flash it grabbed him, hoisting him up against the wall. His shell clattered against the stone, the jolt knocking the life back into his body. He cried out as he heard the terrifying growl rip through its throat. He felt like he was falling. The collision breaking the dam inside him. His adrenaline kicked into overdrive, the energy having pent up throughout the event.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His eyes snapped open and Donatello was finally able to see his attacker. The black hazy mass growled words of venom and hate, spit landing on his face. He floundered, trying to grab at his staff, only to find the empty space in its holder. He had left it in the corner of the room. Instead, he grabbed the nunchucks still settled in his belt, whirling them at the attacker.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’ll pay for what you did!” Donatello screeched, his throat raw as tears began to cloud his vision.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It dropped Donatello, backing out of the weapon’s reach as the nunchucks pelted its body. He heard the sliding of metal as it pulled out weapons of its own and took stance. The storm continued to rage on outside, the downpour of rain coating the air with a cold sticky feeling. Lightning bounced off the walls, the light outlining the figure in front of him. It was huge, powerful looking, and blocking his only exit.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Donatello screamed, swinging his brother’s nunchuck as he lunged at the intruder. “This is for my brothers you sick freak!” His step faltered however, when the lightning came crackling down into the halls, catching him off guard. Light blinded him as electricity exploded outside the door. The force shook the entire area, and Donatello nearly face planted as the ground shook. Neither of them moved, but Donatello swore he heard someone speak.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Donatello heard a clattering, something dropped to the floor. Lighting appeared again, bouncing off of the steel blades on the ground. Through the haze, Donatello registered the weapons. He noticed the figure was lunging towards him, his hands moving to grab him. His grip held firm on the nunchucks, ready to block the incoming blow as adrenaline riddled his body. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The voice appeared again, gruff, deep, and hope cracking through their pitch. “T-Tell me I’m not dreamin. Is that really you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Donatello stared at the black figure before him, unable to make out the face. He couldn’t even recognize the voice. Instead, Donatello moved out from the grip, bending to pick up his forgotten torch. His fingers fumbled around the mattress, still frazzled and shaking from his nightmare. His hands met the cold metal cylinder and he brought it up, clicking it on between them. The light blasted into the ceiling, catching both of their faces in at the edges of the beam. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The image was quite scary, exaggerating the scarred features of the person’s face. The left side was heavily marked, their eye damaged from a long scar that trailed down to their mouth. A bandana covered the top of their head. More importantly though, Donatello finally registered that in front of him was his final missing brother.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was Raphael.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>